Literture and Architecture

8/10/2019 Literture and Architecture

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By PERCY E. NOBBS

Architectural expression, like literary expression, has

a wide field; dancing, sculpture, music, painting are

more limited than either, both as to theme and in

emotional range. All these arts, however, are richer

than either literature or architecture can ever be, in

that third element which makes direct assault upon our

senses to lead us happy captives in the realms of pure

delight.

Now, the subdivision of literature into prose and

poetry is misleading. One might, with equal reason,

divide building into construction and architecture.

The place where prose and poetry meet may be clear

enough to the typographer, and the place where con-

struction and architecture meet may be obvious to the

stonemason, but to the critic -by which I mean an in-

telligent representative of the public not unwilling to

appreciate-the matter is not so easy. One may be

pardoned for taking a leaf from the books of the

modern zstheticians and for dealing with these two

great modes of expression-architecture and literature

-as if art and expression were synonymous terms,

even while holding most strongly that they are not,

accepting only half the proposition and admitting that

all art is expression, while stubbornly insisting that

only all rhythmic expression is art. That, however, is

not to classify poetry and architecture as against prose

and construction. The difference between the ex-

pression that is and the expression that is not art is

more subtle than that. True, inventories and time-

tables, and workshops and trainsheds are all by nature

either prosv or constructional, while hymns of praise

and choragic monuments are by nature at once poetic

or architectural. But we must not forget that railway

viaducts and histories of Rome, while essentially

expressions, may be something more, in virtue of

rhythmic disposition of their several elements, and may

thereby achieve emotional potency and a claim to a

Parnassian environment.

have far more in common than they have of difference.

It is to the analogies of literature and architecture that

I would draw attent ion. There is set purpose in this,

for today literary criticism is perhaps more highly

developed and certainly more generally understood than

ever before. Strangely enough, architectural criticism,

outside the perfunctory but sympathetic columns of our

very technical professional press is non-existent. By

crit icism we should mean just appreciation, with the

bias favorable if anything. The common implication

that criticism is necessarily destruct ive rather than con-

structive, affords evidence in favor of the old doctrine

of the total depravity of man.

Now, before the invention of printing by movable

types, the builded stone answered for the printed word

in the scheme of things. Architecture then held her

proud place as the great democratic vernacular art.

Today we can tell what manner of men lived in

XIIIth Century England or IIIrd Century Ita ly far

more truly and really by looking at their many eloquent

buildings than by reading their few stilted books. But

nowadays our books reflect the best that is in us more

truly than our buildings do.

The other day I came across a sentence by Auguste

Rodin, the great French sculptor, aptly translated and

set out in graceful script, by way of dedication to a

German book on ancient art. It ran:


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THE JOURNAL OF THE AMERICAN INSTITUTE OF ARCHITECTS

materials. Then you will find the period label, if it is

an old building, and the stylemonger label of refer-

ence and resemblance to some past mannerism or tradi-

tion, if it be a new one.

could literature live under such a blight? I trow not.

Modern descriptive writing is full of Nature and

her moods , and occasionally architectural objects

obtrude; if the writers would only treat their

architecture as they do their nature, there would be

little to complain of . But the moment the material

creations of man are touched on, the writers lose grip

and proceed to revel in all the things about architEcture

which are irrelevant-the limbs, the organs, the flesh,

the clothing. But, on the spirit of the building, the

soul of its builders, the real fundamental subject matter

of the monument, there is silence. The arts are, of

course, ultimately untranslatable, and things spiritual

can be built that cannot be said or sung, and vice versa.

But without asking the writers to attempt the im-

possible, we might expect them to see that some build-

ings are instinct with spiritual life , and that some are

less so, and others not at all, and to differentiate

accordingly. Mountains are allowed to be gloomy,

and lakes to smile, and rivulets to sing; even ruins are

permitted to frown. Why not let the houses be dis-

creet or smug, the hotels be pompous, hospitable, or

vulgar, and the churches chaste or ascetic, and not all

be merely physically and materially convenient, plus

style designation, plus valuation.

But there is more in a building that has architectural

qualities than its own particular mood which its

designer may, in a happy moment have bestowed upon

it. In the mere determination of this mood he reveals

something of his personality, but in the elaboration of

the idea he can conceal nothing.

Architects themselves, like writer; and painters, have

hearts-good ones and bad ones, hard ones and soft

ones, kind ones and cruel ones, deep bottomed hearts

and hearts as shallow as saucers, and whether they

like it or not (but often with conscious effort in blood

and sweat and tears) they do inevitably build their

hearts into their buildings today just as they did before

printing was invented, and just as any writer does, and

must inevitably do, in his pages. But now that all the

world has learnt to read, and forgotten how to see,

none but the architects are any the wiser or the better

for it all.

Reverting now to the current fal lacy of architectural

sty les as disembodied traditions, independent alike of

time and place, it is pertinent to enquire: How

would the literary artists like it if the principal

criterion of public appreciation amounted to the cita-

tion o f arid resemblances with respect to ancient

models:-if the first thing to be remarked about the

style of a novel was that it was Jacobean or Louis

XIII ; or about a play that it was XVth Century

Italian; or about a song that it was Queen Anne-

But architecture is expected to thrive under this handi-

cap, imposed by the superficial information which is

the hall mark of our time, and something far more

dif ficult and dangerous than honest ignorance. How

can it?

The evil is greatly accentuated by an accident of

language. Odd uses of words usually enfold some

fundamental truth, but the double meaning of the

word style is not a case in point. I am not philologist

enough to know whether the word has crept into our

language from two different sources or not. That&

would be an explanation. But as things are, thie is

a fundamental fallacy crystallized by the use of the

selfsame word to denote what is individual and what

is generic. When applied to a literary eff ort sty le

connotes all that is differentially characteristic of the

author in. his power over his technique. When applied

to an architectural effort the word nearly always

connotes something general, shared, gregariously

habitual, imitative ly inane, confessedly imbecile, a

negation of technical achievement and progress, a denial

of evolution.

Yet, architects do achieve style in a precisely similar

sense to authors-only, unfortunately, the public is not

educated to the perception of it, and accords to

achitecture a flabby interest in impersonal tradi-

tionalism, whose highest manifestation is associational

preference when rival traditions are brought into

commercial competition by the rival propagandists of

mullions, or lintels, cottage craftsmanship, or the grand

manner. Now, all this would soon come to an end

if people would write about architecture in precisely

the same spirit as they write about poetry.

The musical analogy- frozen music as a definit ion

of architecture for instance,-is ve ry slight, but the

literary analogy, if not pushed too far , affords some

illumination.

Architecture has its words, and even its spellings,

its phrases and sequences of arrangement to render

them intelligible, its statements of fact, its comment,

its rhetoric laden with similes, its historic allusiveness,

and above all, whether the architecture be an

architecture of prose or an architecture of verse, it

has its rhythm or it is&as nothing; just as prose

and poetr

/

either have rhythm or, wanting it,

are altogether inane. And what of the cadences,

and echoes, and rhymes and jingles in architecture-

the metrical formula, the speech in numbers? It is

in metrical quality that architecture is pre-eminent

among the arts. If the practice of architecture be

defined as the discovery of form and one school of

architecture would stress the discovery while an-

other stresses the form, still all agree that in the

search for that form,-a thing itse lf compact of ele-

ments of mass, of scale and of proportion,-abundant

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LITERATURE AND ARCHITECTURE

use is habitually made of certain metrical 8formul~.

These, in their simplest and most elementary, almost

their embryonic form, are the orders of the ancients,

Doric, Ionic, and what not, and in their more elaborate

developments are often called the styles when the

systems would be a far better word.

Now, if a man writes today in iambic pentameters,

no critic in his senses would feel that by calling atten-

tion to the fac t he had done more than state the obvious.

If he is a critic of the head rather than of the heart,

and says the metre used is inappropriate or well

chosen, that is better.

If he leaves the metre alone and

can tell how he responds to the verse he has been

reading, that is best of all.

So, with architecture-to tell us there is an Ionic

order and that the style is classic, is to say nothing;

to tell us that the scale of the order or the severity of

the style is impressive is better; but to tell us of the

mood in which contemplation of the building leaves

him, is best of all.

McFee, in his very wonderful work of wistful ap-

preciations of men, books and places, Harbours of

Memory, makes these quotations from a long-sup-

pressed preface to The Nigger of the Narcissus, by

Conrad. They constitute, in the firs t place, an epitome

of what a great literary artist thinks about himself,

in relation to his work, and in the second place they

have the imprimatur of another one-no less eminent-

who accepts the words as requiring neither comment

nor elucidation.

The literary art, says Conrad, (. . . must stren-

uously aspire to the plasticity of sculpture, to the color of

painting, and to the magic suggestiveness of music, which

is the art of arts. And it is only through complete un-

swerving devotion to the perfeqt blending of form and

substance ; it is only through an unremitting, never-dis-

couraged care for the shape and ring of sentences that an

approach can be made to plasticity, to color, and that the

light of magic suggestiveness may be brought to play for

an evanescent instant over the commonplace surface of

words: of the old, old words, worn thin, defaced by ages

of careless usage.

And again, o f the writer:

He speaks to our capacity for delight and wonder, to

the sense of mystery surrounding our lives; to our sense

of pity , and beauty, and pain; to the latent feeling of

fellowship with all creation-and to the subtle but invin-

cible conviction of solidarity that knits together the lone-

liness of innumerable hearts, to be solidarity in dreams,

in joy, in sorrow, in aspirations, in illusions, in hope, in

fear, which binds men to each other, which binds together

all humanity-the dead to the living and the living to the

unborn.

/So h e sums it up. Beyond this, in placing the bounds

of the authors art, i t is impossible to go. One is per-

mitted only to add, for the purpose of supplying a fitting

conclusion, the final paragraph. The humble and indus-

trious among us may smile incredulously, yet toil on with

a better, heart, when they read that our aim should be:

. . . to arrest, for the space of a breath, the hands

busy about the work of the earth, and compel men en-

tranced by the sight of distant goals to glance for a

moment at the surrounding vision o f form and color, of

sunshine and shadows; to make them pause for a look,

for a sigh, for a smile-such is the aim, diffi cult and

evanescent and reserved only for a very few to achieve.

But sometimes, by the deserving and the fortunate even

that task is accomplished. And when it is accomplished-

behold -all the truth of life is there: a moment of vision,

a sigh, a smile-and the return to an eternal rest.

Now, in applying these same sentences, without

modification of structure or essential sense with here

and there a word altered, but no paraphrasing, one gets

as complete a statement as one could wish to find, in-

vent or compass of the position of the architect as to

his work. For instance: ARCHITECTURE must

strenuously aspire to the plastic ity of sculpture, to the

color o f painting, and to the magic suggestiveness of

music, which is the art of arts. And it is only through

complete, unswerving devotion to the perfect blending

of form and substance; it is only through an unremit-

ting, never-discouraged care for the shape and

LOOK

of

BUILDING FORMS

that an approach can be made

to plasticity, to color, and that the light of magic sug-

gestiveness may be brought to play for an evanescent

instant over the commonplace surface of

STONES:

of the

OLD OLD STONES worn thin, defaced by ages of careless

usage.

Now, I have changed but four words-for the

literary art I have written architecture, for

ring, look, for sentences, building forms, and

for words,

stones-that is all. And so, with the

other quotations.

Such is the aim, difficu lt and evanescent, and re-

served only for a very few to achieve. But sometimes,

by the deserving and the fortunate, even that task is

accomplished, and when it is accomplished-behold -

all the truth of life is there; a moment of vision, a

sigh, a smile, and the return to an eternal rest.

These words need not even a fortuitous substitution.

Apply them to architecture and they stand, and there

is little more that can be said.

I f people, and particularly writers, would regard

buildings as they regard poems, and pictures and plays,

and men, women and children, and animals, and

flowers, that is to say , as organisms with character, they

would obtain and spread much spiritual refreshment in

the exercise.

If a @ is wanted, one cannot do

better than read Mr. Geoffrey Scotts delightful book

The Architecture of Humanism, which sets forth the

vital qualities of the buildings of the Baroque period,

by a system of thought and analysis just as applicable,

I think, to buildings of any and every other period, and

therefore (though he would not admit i t, being

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obsessed by the Baroque) of quite universal application

within the realm of architecture, and probably outside

it.

There is at Marlborough College a Chapel designed

by Bodley and Garner, who brought to bloom the

full flower of the Victorian revived medirevalism, W&

6ne of the school masters made i t his pleasure and his

privilege to show visitors over this part of what Mr.

Veblen would call the Material Equipment of the

institution. One visitor asked this master whether,

on entering the chapel the fir st time, people said Oh ,

and was assured that it was invariably so. Then,

said the visitor, I know nothing about architecture,

but I know that this chapel is all right. That man

knew more about architecture than most of us, I think.

Conclusion

Now, no man can arrange ten words for print with-

out revealing something of his nature ; so, no man can

design

ten courses of brickwork without a like dis-

sipation of spiritual forces, and if the heart of the

writer is what some readers seek, as many assuredly

do when they have truck with writers, then I make

a plea for the heart of the architect as a no less in-

teresting creation.

Of course, it may be urged that the hearts of writers

are intrinsical ly better worth attention than the hearts

of builders ; or again, it may be urged that, as the

architects in these days speak a variety of languages,

apart from the idiosyncrasies of accent, they have lost

their traditions in a veritable Tower of Babel of

stylemongery. And there is a good deal in the latter

argument.

Still, I will state in conclusion, for the benefit of

those who infest the precincts we evolve, that all

architectural languages are in themselves very easy to

understand, though very diffi cult and subtle to theorize

about; so simple that many fail to understand them

after trying, chie fly because they allow themselves to be

bamboozled with the clap-trap of the sty le names and

the mysteries of non-existent quintessential fantasies

with u.gly names such as associationalism.

Industrial Relations

The Chairman of the Committee on Industrial Rela-

tions has before him two documents which have been

issued during the past month. The first of these is the

circular announcing the formation of the New Jersey

Building Congress, which is, as may be guessed, the same

type of building industry organization that is now func-

tioning in New York Cit y, Boston, Portland, Ore., Seattle

and Philadelphia.

The opening words of the document are these: I f he

will but think, everyone will realize that he is affected by

the building industry in one way or another, even if he is

not immediately concerned in its operation. To many,

THE JOURNAL OF THE AMERICAN INSTITUTE OF ARCHITECTS

even of those who follow some other business, the building

industry and its problems are vital , for, taking it in all

its ramifications, it is the second largest industry in the

country. All need the shelter it provides. All are affected

in

its

problems.

The second document is the Report of the Public

Group of the Building Industry (New York City), and

its opening phrases are these:

No industry so important as the building industry at

this time can be considered apart from the interests of the

community, and therefore any attempt to deal with the

problems arising must give heed not alone to labor and

the employer, but to the public as well.

Is it not fair to assume that the problems of the build-

ing industry are beginning to be understood in their

nature if not in their detail? Both of these documents

represent groups of people in two different communities.

It is true that the Building Congress is a body composed

of representatives of the labor and employer groups and

of the public, while the Public Group of the Building

Industry is composed entirely of people representing the

public at large. But it is the public, let us agree, that is

at last finding its place in the tri-partite whole.

These are auguries from which we may hope for real

progress in setting up a clearer understanding of the

functional relationship which all of the elements in the

building industry bear to each other, and it would be

hard to over-emphasize the value of having made it clear

to groups of people that the public must bear its share

of the burden in bringing about a better condition.

The second point of interest is the fact that an archi-

tect is at the head of these central groups. Mr. Harry

T. Stephens is President of the New Jersey Building

Congress. Mr. R. H. Shreve is Chairman of the Public

Group of the Building Industry in New York City.

Both are well-known members of the Inst itute. These

things do not happen by chance but because the parties in

interest recognize the fact that the architect is a pro-

fessional man. It thus follows that as his interest is

completely divorced from the individual interests of the

others, he alone can function judicially. This is a

fact which the architects ought to have realized long ago.

They were wrong in holding aloof as though they feared

to antagonize this, that, or the other group or class.

They are right in now coming forward whole-heartedly,

as so many of them are doing, as leaders of groups

which seek to discover the nature of the problems that

beset the building industry. They are the ones who can

do the most. It is their opportunity.

Of the New Jersey Building Congress I can but say

that we greet it with pleasure and extend to it our hearty

assurance of co-operation. The Congress idea is now

too well known perhaps to require any detailed explana-

tion, but it might be well to recall the fac t that it is,

from its ntiture. a body which will concern itself with

research and investigation and not with problems of a

temporarily contentious nature. Numerous statements

of the work done by the various Congresses to which I

have alluded have appeared in the JOURNAL and, as is

well known, one of its most promising aspects is the

success that already has attended the movement toward

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Literture and Architecture